Haunted
by The Fallen Sky
Summary: He's haunted by memories. He's tried to run from them, but there's no escaping the past. All that's left is for him to embrace his fate.


Title: Haunted  
Author: The Fallen Sky  
Rating: T  
Pairing: Kick-Ass(Dave)/Hit Girl(Mindy)  
Summary: He's haunted by memories. He's tried to run from them, but there's no escaping the past. All that's left is for him to embrace his fate.  
Warning: None  
A/N: This is a one-shot and is told from Dave's POV. There are some dark and possibly disturbing themes in this story, which is set in a very AU future. I'd tell you more, but I don't wanna spoil things for you.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

This is it.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, calming breath.

A sense of profound peace and immense calm settles over me.

My mind is clear, my thoughts focused, my nerves steel.

As I open my eyes, all fear and doubt is gone.

I'm ready.

My steps are measured and unhurried as I approach the door to the crack den. I don't even break stride as I kick the door open and step inside.

Part of me knows that this is a huge mistake, just busting into this place so casually, but I brush it off, not caring.

I came here for a reason, on a mission, and I'm not leaving until I've accomplished that mission.

My impromptu visit is unexpected and quite unwelcome to the inhabitants of this dank and overly dark shithole, as evidenced by the surprised expressions and excited expletive-laced shouts.

I pause as I enter the main room, taking a quick survey of my surroundings.

There are at least seven thugs, each of them scrambling for weapons or rushing toward me, each eager to punish me for my bravado and daring.

I let them come, watching with disinterest as they approach, not bothering to draw my batons.

My heart rate remains steady, my breathing even.

I know I should be gearing up for a fight, but I let my eyes drift shut, taking a breath and waiting for the inevitable.

Suddenly, my instincts take over, my eyes open, and I dodge a punch from the first thug and manage to land one of my own, sending him sprawling backward and into two other scumbags.

I sigh to myself in irritation before moving deeper into the room and engaging the remainder of the combatants.

My mind kinda goes blank as I punch, kick, duck and dodge my way around the mass of bodies, only occasionally taking a hit or glancing blow, nothing serious, just enough to know that I'm in a fight.

One asshole manages to land a decent right hook, and I taste blood in my mouth. It's then that I draw my batons and begin to take things more seriously.

The crunch of bone and the wet _thunk_ of baton on flesh combined with shouts and cries of pain are all I hear along with the steady _thump-thump_ of my own heart.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion. I see every move they make before they make it and am able to counter or block.

Part of me is amazed at how easy this is. Fighting this many men was never my strong suit, but I don't feel like I'm even trying.

She'd be proud.

That thought brings me up short, and I remember why I'm even here.

Something inside me clicks off.

I stop ducking and dodging. I stop swinging and kicking.

I just stop.

Time seems to crawl as I watch a fist move toward my face.

I know I could dodge it, but I don't.

I know I should brace myself, but I don't.

I know it's gonna hurt, but it doesn't.

The fist impacts my face, staggering me.

Time resumes its normal pace as fists, elbows, knees and feet hit me, seemingly from all directions.

I should be in agony, but I don't feel a thing save for the sensation of impact and the rocking of my body as it sways unsteadily.

Eventually, I'm knocked to the ground, but that doesn't stop the assault.

They've taken to kicking and stomping me.

I can feel blood leaking from my mouth and a cut above my eye.

Their faces are still filled with rage but also a kind of glee as they beat me to death.

I can't hear anything except the sound of my heart and my breathing.

It won't be long now.

And that's when the beating stops.

I'm actually disappointed and probably would've said so, if I could talk.

My vision swims, fading in and out, but I'm able to see someone standing over me. He's saying something, but I can't hear him.

He looks at me with disgust and anger, spitting on me before producing a pistol that looks more like a cannon.

As he cocks it, I catch a glimpse of purple.

I blink, trying to get my vision to focus.

It takes a second, but when I'm finally able to see clearly, I see her standing off to the side.

She's dressed in her gear, purple from head to toe, complete with mask and wig, the familiar HG on her belt.

She's absolutely beautiful.

I try to smile, but I'm not sure if I succeed.

As I continue to look at her, I notice she's not smiling back at me. In fact, she looks rather dour, almost like she's upset about something.

When I look into her eyes, I can see the warring emotions there, which is odd, since she's always been so focused when in her superhero persona.

The look she's giving me makes me uncomfortable, and I want to look away, but I can't.

Seeing her calms me, makes me feel like everything is going to be okay.

Even now, with my death mere moments away, I feel at peace, and it's all because she's here with me.

But the peace is fleeting, because her expression, the look in her eyes, stabs me in the heart, rips the peace from my soul and makes me feel guilty and ashamed, as if I've done something unforgiveable and she's letting me know it.

And I do know it.

I know exactly what she disapproves of. The hurt and disappointment in her eyes says it all.

I can't bear to see her look at me like that, so I close my eyes, willing her away, but when I open them again, she's still there, still looking at me like I've betrayed her, torn her heart out and stomped on it.

I swallow the lump in my throat and can feel tears rolling down my cheeks.

I don't want to hurt her, and I certainly don't want to disappoint her, but it just hurts so fucking much. I want it to be over. She knows that. She has to understand. I _need_ her to understand.

Her eyes tell me she does know, but she can't understand, can't accept my decision, can't believe that I'd simply give up.

I feel so fucking small and pathetic under her gaze, like a complete failure.

I deserve to die for my weakness, for my disregard for my own worth and for my disregard for her wishes, for her feelings for me, for her hopes and dreams for my future.

I welcome the bullet I know is about to end my worthless existence, but I know it won't end the pain, because she'll be there, waiting for me, accusing me, disappointed in me.

A memory hits me then, the memory of the worst night of my life, the memory of her dying in my arms, her life slowly slipping away as she bled out, the color draining from her face, her body shivering from shock and blood loss. I tried to stop the bleeding but couldn't. I begged and pleaded for her to hold on, told her that she was gonna make it, told her that I'd kick her ass if she died on me.

She laughed at my idle threat, causing her to cough up blood. And then the strangest thing happened. A weird calm descended on her, and she looked me in the eye, grasped my hand, placed it on her stomach and said in breathy voice, _"You're gonna be a daddy."_

Suddenly, all the horror, worry and fear just vanished, and all I could think of was the two of us lying naked in bed, sweaty and satisfied, her body pressed close to mine, her head resting on my chest, my hand rubbing soft, soothing circles on her round belly. And then her in the hospital, several hours into labor, her hair limp, her face flushed and sweaty, swearing at me for knocking her up and promising to cut my dick off if I ever bring it near her again. And then her sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery, holding our newborn daughter to her breast, humming softly as the baby suckles. And then her chasing a golden haired, mini-version of herself around the park on a bright, warm, sunny day, both of them smiling and laughing from the sheer joy of such a purely innocent and perfect moment.

There were a million other moments like that that flitted through my head, each more wonderful than the last, but all too soon I was pulled back to reality by a fit of coughing and a pained groan. A trickle of blood was running from the corner of her mouth, her breathing was labored, and judging by the expression on her face and the look in her eyes, she knew the end was near. We both did.

I stopped my begging and pleading, stopped panicking, and tried to put on a brave face, tried to be strong for her.

I didn't know what to do or say. I mean, what do you say to your best friend, the woman you love, the woman who means the world to you, more than your own life, when she's dying in your arms and has just told you she's pregnant with your child?

Fortunately, I didn't have to say anything, because, somehow, she just knew. Her eyes softened, and she looked at me with such raw emotion, such pure, unadulterated love that my breath caught in my throat, and my heart skipped a beat. Despite the situation, despite the blood on her lips and trickling from her mouth, she was more beautiful to me than she'd ever been before. Her voice, raspy and strained, was clear and sure as she said, _"I love you, Dave."_

My heart ached at hearing those words, and I had to fight back tears as I replied in a broken and shaky voice, _"I love you, too, Mindy."_

Immediately after the pronouncement, I leaned in and placed a gentle and loving kiss against her lips, pouring my heart and soul into it, trying to convey everything I felt about her, how grateful I was to have known her, loved her and been loved by her and how much I'd miss her.

When I pulled back, she was smiling the softest, sweetest smile I've ever seen.

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of her labored breathing. And as I looked on helplessly, I watched the smile slowly fade from her lips, watched the last embers of light dim in her eyes before finally extinguishing.

She was gone.

My best friend, my partner, my lover, my child's mother, my everything...was gone.

My vision blurred as hot tears began to roll down my cheeks and drip onto hers, making it look like she was crying, too. And maybe she was. Maybe she was crying for everything she'd just lost, the chance at a normal life, the chance to get married and watch our child grow up, the chance to live a long life and grow old together. Maybe she was also crying for me, for everything I'd just lost and for the emptiness, loneliness and guilt I'd have to suffer through as I continued to live without her.

I've been haunted by visions of her lifeless and broken body cradled in my arms, her blank eyes staring at me as I cried over her ever since that day. It's why I'm here now, why I'm not afraid of death and why I'm desperate for her to know and accept that I can't go on without her.

Looking at her now, her expression softens, her eyes, practically pleading with me to fight, to hold on to the last spark of life I have left even if only for a little while longer, now look at me with the same raw emotion and pure love as that horrible night.

Something wondrous happens then, the peace I felt earlier, the peace she both gave and took away, returns, and I'm not scared, not worried about what's to come.

Calm washes over me, and I manage to give her a weak smile, a smile she returns, her eyes shining with hope and unshed tears.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, cleansing breath and embrace my fate.


End file.
